


The Besotted Blogger

by Carriefx



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blog post, Blog-typical use of exclamation marks, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Humor, Jealous John, John Watson's Blog, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 13:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7936669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carriefx/pseuds/Carriefx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock goes undercover at a nightclub and needs someone to pose as his boyfriend, John assumes the task will fall to him. Who else would Sherlock go with, after all? But it turns out that Sherlock has someone else in mind. Jealousy ensues!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Besotted Blogger

_The personal blog of Dr. John H. Watson, 25 th May 2015_

So, this is my first blog update for a while. It’s been hard to find the time. As most of you know, earlier this year I became the proud father of a beautiful little girl! And, as if she wasn’t enough to keep me occupied, Britain’s most wanted criminal mastermind made another appearance! But now something else has happened, and this seems the easiest way to tell you all. It even involves a case, of sorts.

It all started when a friend of ours from Scotland Yard mentioned (over a beer) that Sherlock was going undercover at some high-end nightclub. Apparently several of the patrons had been targeted by a blackmailer. Not something Sherlock would normally be interested in (although I think it’s safe to say he’s not fond of blackmailers!), but quite a lot of money was involved. And possibly the P.A. to a minor official in the British government. I’m sure Sherlock had his reasons for taking the case.

Anyway, this friend told me that, to better blend in with the crowd, Sherlock would be working undercover with someone else, pretending to be a couple. A gay couple. I was a bit surprised to hear this because I assumed (yes, Harry, I can hear your squeals of glee) that he’d be working with me. I mean, who else was he going to go with? I was even a bit pissed off with him, because I thought he’d planned the whole gay couple thing without bothering to ask me.

But it turned out that he had someone else in mind. As he informed me in his usual delicate way: “I can’t go with you, John. Nobody would believe for a second that we’re together.”

Now, I know I’m a bit past my prime, and I’m married and a father and all that, but really I don’t feel much different from the “confirmed bachelor” John Watson who spent his free time running round London with Sherlock Holmes, catching criminals. And back then, almost everyone who knew us (and quite a few who didn’t) assumed that we were at it like rabbits. So I didn’t understand why he thought I couldn’t pass for his boyfriend for one evening, and I made the mistake of asking him to explain.

For the record: I’ve only put on four pounds since my marriage! And the bags under my eyes are no bigger than they were before. And lipstick on my cheek, baby vomit in my hair and an “assortment of minor injuries from domestic D.I.Y. projects” can all be washed off or covered up! But Sherlock was having none of it. He seemed rather amused that I was arguing with him: “You really are a fascinating case study in the power of reverse psychology, John. Suppose I’d _asked_ you to pose as my boyfriend. You’d have thrown a fit, refused outright, and spent the next two days reaffirming your heterosexuality at every opportunity.” He might have had a point.

So some other bloke was going as his boyfriend, then. Of course I had questions. Mostly: Who? And also: What would he be doing with Sherlock at the nightclub? (to catch the blackmailer, I mean). How convincing would their cover need to be? I didn’t like the idea of Sherlock having to do anything that made him uncomfortable.

Sherlock assured me that my concern was unnecessary: he’d be working with an old acquaintance from university. A bloke called Victor. Maybe it was the name, but my mind instantly conjured up a picture of some Oxbridge Adonis – single, early thirties, athletic, as tall as Sherlock perhaps, with dark, shoulder-length hair. As it turned out, that wasn’t far off the mark.

I met Victor by chance when he dropped by to discuss the case with Sherlock. I’d been visiting Sherlock a lot that week for one reason or another, and so I happened to be at 221b when he came. It seems that he and Sherlock got together in their fourth year after Sherlock was bitten by Victor’s pet snake (while trying to extract its venom, no less). I can’t believe Sherlock never told me this! They “had some good times together” (Victor’s words, not Sherlock’s), split amicably and have been in touch on and off ever since. They seemed to be on very good terms.

I’ve got nothing against Victor (why should I?), but I wasn’t sure we could trust him. And I doubted he’d be much use to Sherlock in a fight or with a gun. So I suggested that maybe I should go along too, as back-up. Sherlock pointed out that this would defeat the object: it would be no use him blending into the crowd if I were there too, busy “skulking about in a jumper and scowling at Victor”. He also pointed out that a blackmailer who was trying to take compromising photos of the nightclub patrons without anyone noticing would hardly resort to fist fights or firearms. But I just had to make sure that Sherlock would be okay, so I offered to put product in my hair (don’t you dare laugh!), wear the sharpest get-up Sherlock could find for me, and sit unobtrusively at the bar keeping an eye on things. Surprisingly, Sherlock agreed to this.

So on Friday night I dressed up and made my way out to the club. I’m not allowed to tell you exactly where, but it’s in the West End, and invitation only. I’m not sure whether they’d beefed up the security or whether it’s always like that - the body search at the door was pretty invasive! But I could see the moment I walked in why a blackmailer would choose to infiltrate the place. You wouldn’t believe the kind of people I saw there! And what they were getting up to! I bought a drink and sat at the bar, trying not to stare. I sat there for about half an hour, feeling more and more like a tit. And then I saw them.

Sherlock and Victor came into the club hand-in-hand. Sherlock was laughing at something Victor had said, and his eyes were sparkling. As was the rest of him. I’d never seen him in clothes that tight, and that’s saying something! He was wearing this midnight blue shirt that… well, I don’t know much about fashion. But you could see his muscles _rippling_ underneath it. He was wrong about blending in, looking like that. I think everyone in the room was staring at him.

I’d never seen him act that well either. Sherlock, who goes stiff as a board if you do so much as hug him, was practically melting against Victor! It was so much more convincing than with Janine. And Victor was giving back as good as he got. I was close to intervening at one point - he was getting quite possessive! He had his hands in all sorts of places. But it was impossible not to see how good they looked together. It wasn’t all for show, on either side. You could tell they had a history.

I don’t know how much Sherlock deduced about the other patrons at the club that night, but I certainly didn’t pay them much attention. And I probably blew Sherlock’s cover while I was at it, too, because to be honest I just couldn’t take my eyes off him.

There, I’ve said it. You know where this is heading. Please spare me the ‘I told you so’s (in fact, I’ll disable the comments for this post).

I couldn’t take my eyes off Sherlock. But it wasn’t (just) because of the way he looked. You probably think I was jealous of Victor, and okay, maybe I was (a little), but that wasn’t it either. The thing was: Sherlock looked _radiant_ , in a way I hadn’t seen him look for a very long time. It always melts my heart a bit when he drops his mask and shows some human feeling. Just seeing what he _could_ be like, potentially, with a man he loved, was a revelation to me. And I thought about all the times we’d been on the brink of that – him and me. We weren’t a couple, so we’d never been all over each other like that, but still: after cases sometimes, when we’d sprinted halfway across London, we’d stand close together as we caught our breath, and smile at each other exactly like that in the flashing blue lights, as if we were the only two people in the world.

It’s difficult to write this, but I’ve started so I’ll go on: I’ve known for a while now that Sherlock is in love with me. It’d be hard to miss, with some of the things he’s said and done. That evening too: every now and then he’d glance across at me and I’d see it all over his face. I’d done my best to ignore it before, so I’m not sure why it hit me so hard just then. It made my chest clench like I’d lost him all over again. Except that this time I could do something about it.

Absolutely nothing happened at the club that night. I sat and watched Sherlock dance with Victor, had a mid-life crisis, then went home. And the next morning, I separated from Mary. We’re getting a divorce.

You’ll think I’m a bit of a shit for doing that. You might be right, though there are some things I can’t tell you – extenuating circumstances, as it were. Let’s just say that Mary and I were both different people, when we fell in love. I’ll still be part of her life, and still be a father to our baby girl, but I told her I needed Sherlock more. She cried a bit, but said she’d been expecting this to happen since the day Sherlock got shot. That was kind of a turning point for me as well.

Then I went to Baker Street.

Sherlock hadn’t slept that night. When I let myself in, he was perched on the back of his chair, still wearing his outfit from the club, except that he’d scrubbed the make-up off his face. His hair was a complete mess, as if he’d spent the night running his hands through it. I could hardly breathe when I saw him.

“Don’t worry: Victor went home,” he said (just slightly bitterly?) as I walked in, but then his eyes flicked over my face and down to my bare ring finger, and he went very still.

I can’t even remember what I said to him then! My heart was pounding so hard that I felt dizzy. It’s all a bit of a blur. I think it was something mundane, along the lines of “have you eaten?” or “can I move back in?” And he didn’t answer: just sat there, staring at me. So I took a few steps towards him, and he stood up and came towards me and…

Yeah, we kissed, okay? I’m not giving the details, because this blog is only rated teen-and-up.

Well, perhaps a few details…

Sherlock’s lips are warm and tender.

His hands are calloused and tremble a bit when he touches me.

When he says my name, his voice resonates through all the bones in my body.

Sherlock thinks that every square inch of my skin is more important than the solar system.

(Although he also thinks that about the reproductive cycle of blowflies, so I shouldn’t get too carried away about that one…).

And he in no way appreciates poetry (“call that poetry, John?”) so I’ll stop. He’ll say I should finish writing up the case, so in case any of you actually wonder or care: we did catch the blackmailer. Apparently it was one of the doormen. While he pretended to search the patrons on their way in, he was actually attaching ingenious little hidden cameras to their clothes, which he used to take photos while they were inside. Sherlock found one of those cameras on my shirt that morning.

*****

So that’s it, then. One of the longest blog entries I’ve ever written (Ella will be proud). I’m not sure if I’ll actually post it, though. It’ll need a better title. “The Besotted Blogger” was Sherlock’s suggestion (the prick!) after he read that last part. But he was smiling as he said it. Radiantly. :-)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to everyone who commented and kudoed my first Johnlock story last month! You’re the reason I came straight back to write another one. I hope you enjoyed it!


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